Laudo Amorem
by after sex cigarette
Summary: Laudo Amorem is Latin for I Praise Love..As Ginny comes into forceful new powers, she starts to shag Draco a few times a week....and starts to lose control. Friendships die, Harry is scaring her...and all she wants is a hero to fix her broken self. WIP
1. Twisting Into Nothing

_Laudo Amo is Latin for I praise love._

:Red lights begin flashing as an automated voice comes on: Warning! Warning! SUICIDE, suicidal thoughts/actions, CHARACTER DEATH, mild OOC (I can never nail Ron), VIOLENCE, BLOOD (notice the capitalization? If you don't like aforementioned things, I beg you not to read this story, because the most of the chapters will have these things. Not the character deaths, obviously, I'd have nobody left to play with, and Jesus did that sound wrong or what?).

Summary: What starts out as a rough shag three times a week becomes something so much more violent. What has happened to the innocence they all once had? What can you rely on in a world where the odds are a thousand to one you'll die before the age of twenty? Who can you turn to and what can you do when your life is becoming an overused cliche?

_'The Futures already there, It can't be changed.'-Cait McCann, Lucas; A Story Of Love And Hate_

_'Out of your whole life give but a moment!  
A__ll of your life has gone before,  
__All to come after it-so you ignore'-First three lines of Robert Browning's' poem Now_

_'We were mean't to be, supposed to be  
__But we lost it  
__All our memories so close to me  
__Just fade away  
-__  
__It's nice to know that you were there  
__Thanks for actin like you cared  
__And makin me feel like I was the only one  
__It's nice to know we had it all  
__Thanks for watchin as I fall'-Avril Lavigne (co-written by Butch Walker), My Happy Ending_

_'I couldn't tell you  
__Why she felt that way  
__She felt it everyday  
__And I couldn't help her  
__I just watched her make  
__The same mistakes again' Avril Lavigne (Ben Moody helpes her write the musc-the part with the notes for the instruments-and also plays guitar on this song. His playing is wonderful), Nobody's Home_

It's funny what we're scared of. Mice, snakes, heights, blood, water...It's funny, I think, because of how ridiculous it all seems to be scared of small things when there is so much more to be scared of.

I'm scared of never finding love, never being understood, never experiencing loyalty to it's utmost, not dying a happy man, but most of all, I'm scared of what I'm going to regret in twenty years, ten, five, one...Of what I may regret in the next hour or minute or even second.

People do some crazy things. Rape, murder, suicide, self mutilation, lying. It all seems so senseless, really. What do you get out of this? What the hell are you expecting out of it? It's dumb, it's the epitome of humanities stupidity. People who do these things disgust me.

I suppose that makes me a hypocrite, for I've done almost all of them. I haven't, obviously, committed suicide, but I have driven a person to it, knowing full well what I was doing, knowing what would happen. I'm addicted to this, though. Addicted to doing bad things, to manipulating people. It's a drug, a powerful drug, and I can't get it out of my system because I love it.

I wish I was dead sometimes. Not because my life is horrid, not because I can't stand the blackness that blankets me and caresses me so sweetly, but because I'm tired of being who I am. I am tired of having people fear or hate me because of my last name. I'm tired of having girls fawn over me. They don't love me, they don't even _like_ me (or maybe they do, but I have no evidence of it). They fawn and do what I want them to because of the money I have, because of my heritage.

I have power, I am Lucius Malfoy's one and only heir. I am an enigma to some and a book to others, but what you don't see and what they don't see is how different I am from what they think. If asked to describe myself in twenty-five words or less, I would have to think because there is so much about myself that I want known and yet so much I want to keep locked down tight. If I had to describe myself in said twenty-five words, This is what I would say:

Intelligent and talented, a mystery to even myself. Blonde, silver-blue eyes, tall, muscular and thin, cold, manipulative, caring, sweet, angry. Dark, lonely, craving something.

It's mildly depressing, is it not? I do not know why the way I describe myself seems so distant, so matter-of-fact and cool. When it's just me in my room and I have a pencil in my hand and paper in front of me, images swirl through my mind, and I try to capture them to pin down who I am. Sometimes I write, but my own writing makes me want to slash my wrists and bleed to death to get away from the image painted in short stories and poetry.

I am an avid fan of Edgar Allen Poe and Ella Wheeler Wilcox. I do not care for Shakespeare, though he is an ancestor, and I do not care for the Russian classics the Goth's and sophisticated people long for. Chekhov holds no wonder for me, and neither does anybody else, for that matter.

I tell a lie, though. Wuthering Heights paints a picture that is nearly brusque. I do not read it again and again, I read it out of a longing for an escape. An escape from what, I do not know. Maybe from myself, maybe from the world, maybe from nothing at all. I imagine myself as a tragic hero, but this is wishful thinking. I may be tragic, but I am no hero. I am not brave. I do what I have to survive and to gain my father's coveted respect and love. But I bore you. I shall not waste anymore time, for my quill is running low on ink and time is of the essence.

I write this letter to you, beloved, for I know no other way to express what I feel, have felt, and will continue to feel for the rest of my life. I shall betray your secrets to no one but yourself and my confidant, whose memory I shall wipe clean afterward. I wish to tell you of what I went through when you and I became what we are. You do not know one key part of this story, and my heart and soul cringe and cower at having to tell you, for I do not wish to recount the wretched misfortune of my heartbreak and the finding of a corruption I knew nothing about.

I wish you well, my love, and I do hope that one day you may forgive me after you are through reading this. I pray that one day you will swallow your infamous pride and your temper shall abate to allow you to become, once again, my ray of sunlight and my beacon in the storm. I just hope that when and if that day comes, I am alive to see it and to kiss your lips and cry with you at our utter foolishness and then to engage in a fight that will rock us both, as they do now.

Now, dearest, onto what I must tell you as I spell myself into the past and into your head at the moment of our meeting...

It was dark, and as Ginevra Weasley walked stealthily through the halls of Hogwarts on Prefect duty, her thoughts were of a dark and desperate manner. Harry was hers in a sense, but now that she had him (Ginny was not quite sure how this had come about), she didn't want him.

It was like being in a cage. A dusty cage locked within yet another cage. She had a dark cloth thrown over her cages, so she wouldn't speak when she was awake, just think it was still night and fall into a trance of sleep and restless waiting again. Being Harry's girlfriend, it was not what she wanted, not really. She wanted to be loved by him, not owned by him. Claimed and taken and compromised by him, but oh no, Mr. Harry James Potter was to much of a _gentleman_, but what gentleman will lash out angrily at the one they presumably love? Hitting, kicking, screaming, nasty little whispers.

They made her want him, but repelled her because after he would apologize, and she _did not_ want him to. She wanted to be hit, wanted to be screamed at. She craved it like she craved chocolate.

"Weasley, have you checked the Ravenclaw hallway?" Draco Malfoy asked tiredly, his words laced with doubt. Young though she was, she was not incompetent, and felt a desperate need to prove this to the icy blonde. Not because of any 'I like him, I'll impress him' reason, just out of...out of a need to do anything.

Something else to focus on, really.

"Yes, a Ravenclaw fourth year and a Gryffindor fifth year were snogging. I deducted ten points from each of there houses," Ginevra said quietly, aware of the muttering coming from some of the portraits.

"Marisol Kingilton and Colin Creevey again, Weaslette?" He just couldn't resist an insult, could he?

"Yes. I wasn't sure if they deserved detention or not. It's up to you, oh Ferrety Head One!" She snapped, albeit dully, and dropped to her knees in reverent, sarcastic bow.

In the dim light cast by his wand, she could see a sneer playing on his face. An approving sneer. Odd.

"One would think you weren't a pureblood. Or that you have an odd fetish for my feet as well as pigs and your brothers. I'll bet you ten galleons Potter and Weasel have loads of fun over the holidays," Draco said silkily, an uncanny imitation of Snape.

A small spark of rage ignited in her, but was soon diminished, taken over by her heavy, unexplainable sadness.

"No, Malfoy," she said softly, her voice shaking from suppressed tears.

"Have I made you mad, Red? Have I made you want to run to daddy and show him how much you appreciate your new lacy lingerie? You'll have to photo that one for me, I'm sure Potter would love it." He laughed cruelly.

"Good night, Malfoy. Creevey and Kingston can only scrub bedpans without magic for there offense, please remember," Ginevra whispered and turned to leave.

It hurt, her heart actually hurt. The insults he had thrown at her didn't hurt her at all, it was the tone he said them in. Like he couldn't be bothered with her. Just like everybody these days, to busy with the War... 'Are you alright? Can you do this spell? Had any visions from You-Know-Who? Are you alright? Talk to me. Tell me. Can you save us? You have to learn this and this and this and have Ginny help you, she has nothing better to do, she loves you so much, Harry, she always has and-'

"SHUT UP!" She screamed suddenly, nausea and dizziness sweeping over her as she fell to the ground, the words swimming in her ears.

She heard a muttered "What the bloody hell?" as footsteps came toward her. She was shaking, getting up weakly, tossing her long red hair out of her face, tears stinging her eyes.

I will not cry, she vowed, hardening. I will not cry, I can't, I have to be strong, I have to help everybody, I. Will. Not. Cry.

"Weasley? What the fresh hell is going on? Why did you scream? Let me help you up," Draco said, sounding a little worried.

"Do you desire me?" She asked as he pulled her up.

"Pardon?" He said, handing her her wand.

Her heart was pounding. He would be rough; he wouldn't hold back, he wouldn't cry afterward.

"Do you desire me. Don't think of my name, of who I am. Just look at me, and take me in, and then answer my question, Draco," she said, his name rolled off her tongue like honey, and she caressed it, almost enjoying it.

He looked at her. Her fiery red hair was wavy and tumbled halfway down her back, caught up by a blue ribbon at the nape of her neck. Her wispy bangs touched nearly to her long eyelashes that covered clear, haunted blue eyes you could drown in. Her face was round, barely any spots, except the few he noticed only because he was looking at her so hard.

Her lips were full and pouty, and she was pale. Her school vest was off, and her tie loosened. Her white shirt was untucked in the front, and unbuttoned enough to show her substantial cleavage. She wasn't thin like other girls; she had a full figure, round hips, a round stomach that most girls were ashamed of if they had it. Her legs were nice, he decided, and you could see a hint of muscle. Her ankles were delicate and as he took her in, he knew his answer.

"More desirable than every girl in this school, Weasley. Why?"

"Shag me. Hard. Rough. Think about me but think about yourself. Please," her voice had no plea; it was calm and betrayed nothing. Her eyes glittered with some emotion she couldn't identify.

He blinked at her for a second but recovered and smirked. He ran his fingers down the silver chain that her teardrop shaped aquamarine pendant hung on and the trailed his fingers down her partially exposed breast.

"As you like it," he replied softly, pulling her roughly to him and kissing her. Her lips parted to him, and his tongue slowly traced them. Her breathing quickened as he slid his hand up under her skirt, and she parted her legs.

"Mmm," was all she could manage, as he walked her backwards to a wall. Her hands found his belt and she unfastened it before attacking the buttons on his pants. As she slid her small hands inside, he shuddered momentarily. Her fingers were cold as ice. Cold as death, and he shuddered again.

"Do you make loud or quiet noises?" He breathed into her ear as he kissed her neck-making sure it was in a spot her hair would cover-and then slid his hands into her shirt.

"Qui-quiet," she stuttered, pulling her hands from his pants and placing them on the back of his neck. He flipped her skirt up, pulled her underwear down as she slid his boxers and pants down, and entered her swiftly.

She stifled a moan in his neck before kissing him again, deeper and more passionately than before. He let his hand slowly make its way down her body as he quickened his movements, slamming her into the wall with each stroke.

"Malfoy," she whimpered as his fingers stroked her and his teeth sank into her bared shoulder. He moved his fingers faster on her as small whimpers of pain met his ears and he thrust into her, accompanied by moans of pleasure that grew louder at every moment.

"Now," he whispered to her, kissing her gently, and then groaned out her name-not Ginny, but Ginevra-as his body shuddered and he swirled his fingers in a circle around her.

"Thank you," she murmured, feeling blood from where his teeth had been, and feeling _alive_. She straightened her clothes, and she left him. Walking back, trying to calm her breathing, she smiled a real smile for the first time in two weeks.

Cowardly and a prat though Malfoy was, he had always made her feel somewhat more alive whenever they involved in verbal sparring or in physical combat and-now-in rough, harsh fucking.

Ginevra changed out of her school clothes and into her dark blue pajama pants and tank top, and slid into bed. She gasped slightly as she rolled onto her back and was assaulted by waves of pain.

Her eyes drifted closed then, and for the first time in three nights, she slept peacefully and with happy, good dreams.

Entering the Great Hall the next morning, Ginevra's sparkling blue eyes sought out his silvery-grey ones. Biting her thumb nail as she walked, her bag clutched close to her, the rough fabric of her school shirt coupled with Harry's heavy hand on her back, made the bruises tenderer and reopened the scrapes on her back.

He sneered viciously at her, licked his lips suggestively, and imitated her nervous nail biting, presumably in an attempt to embarrass her. Ginevra smiled sweetly at him, feigning naivety, and tossed her hair, made wild and curly by her careless attitude this morning.

"Gin? Did you hear me?" Harry asked, his thumb pressing uncomfortably into the small of her back.

"No, sorry. What was it, then?' She answered, sitting down and staring at the mountains of food in front of her, overwhelmed by the vast choices. The Goddess of Fire opted for a piece of dry toast and a goblet of orange juice, provided by Harry.

"I said, Lavender has gotten permission from Dumbledore to hold a party of sorts here in the Great Hall. Everybody's invited, but the boys must ask the girls, no matter if they're a couple or not. So, Ginny, will you go with me?" Harry asked, flashing a fast smile.

Ginevra seized at her temper and annoyance with an iron grip, holding in a grimace. Is that what he thought she wanted? To attend a party with him? To be his little decoration? The questions rose in her mind, but she did not follow them, apathy stealing over her, the light in her eyes extinguishing.

"I'd love to!" She squealed, grinning and clapping her hands.

The green eyed Wonder Hero smiled indulgently, as if he had just given his favorite pet a treat to help her forget a temper she had been in.

"Not feeling well, Gin?" Ron asked, frowning at her meager meal.

"My stomach is doing a bit of a tap dance," Ginevra replied, smiling. "Must be from the excitement of the party. The last one was the Yule Ball, and that was three years ago."

"Besides, just nibbling at the toast and sipping at your juice may help you get a better figure, not that I don't love the one you have, but you know how people are, Pastry," Harry said, his eyes flashing with something. He used her hated pet name, but Ginevra paid no notice as the bell rang and she was swept away from her 'beloved' in the crush of human bodies, eager for lessons.

"Back again, my little nympho?" Draco asked, smirking.

Ginevra tugged him behind a statue and began to hurriedly unbutton her shirt, her dull eyes locked on his lively ones.

"I do believe your turning into a slut, Miss Weasley," he whispers in her hair as she bit his neck.

"I do believe your turning into your own person, Mr. Malfoy," she replied as he kicked off his shoes.


	2. Your Gravestone Carving

_A/N: Is it just me or does the Ginny x Tom 'ship seem so perfect? Ginny pining and loving Tom, Tom (Voldemort) holding a spot in his nearly non-existant heart for her? I love it. It showed that Ginny was less than happy in her life to confide like that. Also, has anybody noticed how in the Draco x Ginny 'ship Ginny usually ends up being evil or turning Draco good? Or that in the Ginny x Harry 'ship, one ends up saving the other and there both freaking saints? Is that wierd or what? Anyway...On to the story! Yay for evolving writing skills! Writing classes do come in handy!_

Ginevra could very calmly watch somebody die. After all, she had watched as her fellow students looked at a reflection of a basilisk and become rigid in terror, fear screaming across there eyes and panic roughly shaking long-forgotten survival instincts into use only for them to be drowned by darkness.

She had used her own blood to write the messages one the walls, taking a perverted joy in it, becoming-dare she think it-_aroused_ by such a vulgar act. That she had used red paint or the blood of the roosters she had killed was a common misconception. A smile would twist her lips as she thought about those roosters, they're hearts racing like lightening then slowing to an agonizing pace as her small, weak fingers slipped on the silky white and red feathers.

Ginevra loved it. Loved the feeling of wielding power over these small, insignificant things. It was wild, uninhibited, and her mouth would actaully water at the thought of killing again. Tom used to say she was born to kill, to defend what she believed right. That she was destined to become someone and something so powerful that even Voldemort would cringe before her, helpless and seduced by her erotic looks and raging, angry powers.

So, then, why did she feel so hopeless? Why did she fear battling side by side with Harry? It was her place to die beside her lover, to accept her fate and smile, to enjoy the life she had. And what a life it was, being battered and liking it, then loathing the person who did it because he begged her forgiveness and cried and wanted her to hold him and soothe him afterward!

It was an insult to her, and she wished for him to die in some seconds, wished she could tighten her now strong fingers around his heroic, tragic, _pathetic_ neck and squeeze and squeeze until his eyes glazed over and she could look at him with a cruel smile, feel like she could live up to Tom's expectations.

Thoughts like this constantly plagued her, for Ginevra was not what anyone thought. Underestimated and left to her own devices, she had learned much. She bought Muggle books on the occult, vampires, werewolves, and any type of witchcraft and religion she could possibly put her hands on. Many of these books were stolen, and she felt no guilt about that fact. She also bought-and stole-many books on the Dark Arts, on legal actions taken against Witch's and Wizards, on vampires and werewolves, on potions and complicated ritual spell.

She learned too much, and yet she didn't learn enough. She hungered for more knowledge, for more words, for more anything. She craved keenly for a romance in which words needed not to be spoken, in which glances would suffice, in which they could read each other's moods, but that seemed like it was not to be.

So she hated the world and decided to carve it and mold it gently but roughly into her hands, to make love to it and make it hers.

"Ginny, come on," Harry said, tugging her away from the book on a highly regarded Wizarding school that was nearly impossible to get into. It taught the Dark Arts, trained the Witches and Wizards to be Aurors or the guardians of a prison more protected than Azkaban.

"Alright, Harry, let me just put this back," she said demurely, moving to the back of the shop. Ginevra flipped quickly to the back of the book and scrutinized the sample spells and potions. They were complicated, and would take days to finish. She grinned and slipped it into the inside pocket of her cloak.

"Ginny!" Harry said impatiently as he walked toward her.

"Sorry, Harry. Where are we going next?" Ginevra slid her hand into his, smiling sweetly at him as she pressed a brief kiss to his lips.

"We're going to walk to the post office. I need to send off a letter to Remus," Harry said, glancing at her before setting off.

"What's your letter about?" She asked, waving at Ernie MacMillan.

"Things to do with the Order, you wouldn't be interested," he said dismissively, his nails suddenly biting into the back of her hand.

"Harry?" She asked, stopping and looking into his eyes.

"Nothing, Gin, come on, I don't have time for you to be slow if I'm going to meet Hermione and Ron in ten minutes." Harry pulled her along, and they fell silent, Ginevra keeping her face neutral.

After posting his letter, the two of them walked to the pub and were met at the door by a flushed Hermione.

"Been running?" Harry asked lightly, gifting her with a smile as he held the door open.

"Yes, actually. I was trying to find a book on this prestigious Wizarding school in Ireland that has a better level of teaching than any school in the world. I can't find the book anywhere, though I remember speaking to Miss Patty, she's the owner of the bookshop, and she said she had one left! I wish I could get my hands on it," Hermione said, sitting down and taking the butterbeer Ron offered her.

"I've heard of that school," Ginevra said, smiling at her friend.

"Probably not, Ginny, you don't read very often and nobody ever mentions it," the curly haired girl said, taking a swig of her drink

Ginevra pushed her Sugar Tonic away from her without taking a single swallow, her anger gripping her briefly, and settled instead for reading the book she had lifted, taking satisfaction that it was the very one Hermione was looking for. Rage coursed through her dimly, but she ushered it away, and threw herself into her reading.

"Gin, do you ever stop reading those trashy romance novels?" Ron asked, scowling darkly.

"It's not a trashy romance novel," Ginevra answered, her voice laced with disdain that went unnoticed.

"It's a work of art, then?" Hermione teased with a smile.

"It's a book, obviously," she replied scathingly, her tone going unnoticed again as the three friends again took up there conversation, leaving Ginevra to her reading and her observations of the dirty, common pub.

_(spacer)_

"I can't take it," Ginny murmured to herself as she stalked along the hallways, glancing around for couples hidden away in a dark corner, or mischief makers trying to pull a gag worthy of the Weasley twins.

The monotony of her life was dragging at her like bony fingers grabbing at her robe, tugging and tugging until she was too tired to drag the bodies attached and just gave up, sinking like they wanted her to.

"It eats at you," she whispered, walking swiftly through the halls, fingers trailing across the walls and portraits.

"It eats at you until you can barely breathe, until you're so overcome with such overwhelming emotions you can't describe you'll give up your soul for something you can understand, if not know. Overwhelming..." The redhead trailed off as she came upon Draco Malfoy, who was standing with is back to her, bent over a book, his wand lighted.

"What are you reading when you should be patrolling, Malfoy?" Ginevra drawled, imitating him.

He whirled to face her, and she matched his sneer. It suited her more, because of her angry, stormy eyes.

"I, you disgrace of pureblooded families, am reading ahead in my lessons. Do you have a problem with that or is this your idea of talking dirty?" He asked silkily, his look innocence that of an angel.

With an angry glare, she turned, her robes whipping around her feet, preparing to walk away from him.

"Don't let Potty bite," she heard him say, but his attention seemed elsewhere.

He had dismissed her from his mind before she was even out of his sight! Just like they all did! Just like always! Bile rose in her throat and she bit down hard on her lower lip, stunned to taste blood sweep over her tongue seconds later.

The world was spinning out of control, rocking on its axel, ready to plunge far away from it. The dim shadows pressed in on her, her breath came in short, rapid bursts. The walls spun around her, the ground beneath her feet seemed to shake as if trying to buck her off of it, as if deeming her not worthy.

She whirled around again, her hand shot out and her fingers closed around his neck, bitten nails digging harshly into his jugular.

"Gin-" He managed to sputter before trying to gasp in a breath as her fingers tightened, tightened. He fastened his hands on her fingers, first scrabbling at them then finding a grip and pulling, hearing the sharp crack as one-or maybe more-broke.

He turned to look at her, and Ginevra stared back, her hands hanging limply at her sides.

"Nobody _fucking_ dismisses me, Draco Malfoy!" She said, her voice low, dangerous, sensual.

"Well, you just found the one person who does, bitch, now go before I report you for attempted murder," he said, stepping towards her. He stood about seven inches taller than she, and as she craned her neck up to look him in the eye, fury blazed across her face, adding color to her pale skin.

"Aggravated fucking assault, you prick," she hissed, the air crackling with the tension between them.

"Screw that, you psycho," Draco answered, walking past her.

"Draco, you forgot your present!" Ginevra sweetly sing-songed, her eyes snapping.

The blonde turned and she couldn't help but feel a delicious dampness between her legs at his dishevel, angry silhouette.

"What the fuck are you on about?" He asked irately.

Power blasted from her, a blinding yellow-red light echoed through the hall, and Ginevra laughed as she sobbed, feeling all the emotions that had been building up for the past weeks slip from her.

She slid quietly to the floor, allowing the blackness to slide over her, and she giggled weakly. Nobody would point any finger at her, innocent little Ginny, alone on the nightly patrol with Draco Malfoy, Slytherin Sex God.

_(spacer)_

Now, my love, as I slowly come out of my spelled state and put pen to paper again, I still find that I shudder with fear at the memory of that night. I thought you had come to me to shag again, and the look on your face when I turned, it was too intense for me.

Now, remembering the pain I felt, the pain that wracked my body and crawled through every cell and vein, trying to tear me apart, I fear you. I fear _for_ you. I fear for myself, also.

When all is said and done, we are all mortals, and our lives will probably not matter three hundred years from now. True, the Malfoy name will most likely still be around, I know mother spelled herself so she would give birth to a boy. True, you will rise in your power, become a teacher, but...

Will our souls be immortal, as everyone believes, or is just an eloquent, romantic myth? Will be re-incarnated to join again, questing for the time when we are together from birth to old age, loving and caring and needing?

I feel as if I've known you forever, yet I know you not at all. I know your favorite color is a pale, pale blue, your favorite flowers are sprays of baby's breath, and your favorite color rose is pink.

Your favorite food is garlic bread with marinara sauce to dip it in, you favorite cheese is provolone; your favorite movie is Cinderella, no matter how childish it is. Your favorite number is twenty-nine, because it promises thirty, and because it has left so many other numbers in its wake.

I know you, but you are a stranger. Your touch is always different, you eyes always more haunted, you voice always fainter. I live in terror that someday, probably soon, you are going to die and leave me. How I wish I could save you; let you live through me, take away every hurt you've accumulated.

My love, you are so strong, and yet you are so weak. I loathe you for it, I admire you for it.

I am, my darling, addicted to you more than I could be addicted to anything, and if I could go back in time and change our life, I would.

_(spacer)_

Three days passed for Ginevra before Malfoy woke, dazed and muttering about insanity and sociopaths. A smile spread across her face as she reported to him when her patrol was done.

On the fourth night, as she was telling him that she had found two Hufflepuff first years, the twins, Joey and Chloe, hiding dungbombs and spelling them to go off when everyone was headed to the Great Hall in the morning, Ginevra kissed him.

His eyes widened, and his hands came up to weakly push her away.

"I don't fuck crazy idiots," he said angrily.

"I don't fuck arrogant wimps, but there you are," she answered, dragging the tip of her tongue along the curve of his ear. Draco moaned, pulling her on top of him in acceptance to his attraction and grabbing her arse to pull her against him. She giggled, her lips humming against his, and he kissed her.

Ginevra felt herself let go, felt her giddy happiness expand in her head until she was dizzy with it, drunk on the adrenaline coursing through her as she fumbled with the drawstring on his pajama pants and he ripped her blouse open, sending buttons clattering everywhere.

She rolled off of him, and he straddled her, sliding her skirt down her pale, lush legs. He kissed her thighs before tasting her for the first time, his tongue questing for a certain spot that would drive her crazy.

She bucked against his hands as he nipped her labia, dragging the flat of his tongue from the bottom of her slit to the top, swirling the tip of it around her sensitive clit. She went rigid at that moment, and he swallowed the juices that seeped out of her with relish.

He kissed her, allowing her to taste herself, smirking as she re-coiled but kissed him back anyways as he slid into her, his fingers gripping her hips bruisingly hard.

"Do you like it?" He whispered in her ear, panting.

Ginevra's back arched as her fingers dug into him, and he took one hand to drag his nails down her stomach, leaving red welts that oozed tiny drops of ruby red blood.

"Love...it..." Ginevra moaned, clutching his shoulders.

_(spacer)_

"Ginny! Wait!" Harry called, running up to her and sliding his arm around her waist.

She smiled at him, not saying anything, as she took an apple out of her pocket. Harry frowned at her, and she tossed it aside instead of taking a bite, her mouth watering and her stomach growling. She hadn't eaten in a week.

"Lavender said that you can wear muggle clothes to the party...so wear that amazing red dress. The one with full skirt that goes down to your knees? With the...the tiny straps," he said, frowning slightly.

"Okay. Mind if I go talk to Luna? She said she'd let me copy her notes. I spaced during Binn's class," Ginevra said lightly, waving at the blond.

"I do mind, but go ahead anyway. It's not like you had time before or anything like that, so you could spend time with _me_," Harry said pointedly after kissing her, his teeth biting her lower lip.

She touched to fingers to her mouth, the slight pain already gone, and she looked at him sadly.

"I'm sorry, Gin! I didn't mean to!" Harry said suddenly, drawing her into his arms tenderly.

Anger flared in her again, mixed with the familiar disgust.

"It's okay," she said, trying to control her exasperation.

"I love you, you know that, right?" He asked helplessly, showering her face with kisses.

"Tonight at ten," she answered automatically, before turning and leaving to hide in Luan's random talk of crazy ideas.

Luna handed her the paper, then, just like Draco, she dismissed the redhead. The power burst forth again, with no color this time, but Luna dropped to the ground, and her face was ashen. Her chest didn't move, and someone screamed this out.

Ginevra promptly passed out. Who could point the finger at her, the girl who was present as Voldemort managed again to somehow get his magic inside the school grounds?

Nobody fucking_ dismissed_ her!


	3. Politically Correct Phoniness

_**A/N: lalala...nothing to say...Linkin Park rules...lalala...Listen to A Rush Of Blood To The Head by Coldplay, great song...fol de rol...ok...to much coffee...I love Colin...I'm done. :skips off to Never-Never Land whistling I'm A Little Teapot:**_

"-you haven't seen anything odd before you passed out and Miss Lovegood and Mr. Malfoy were, ah, attacked?" Professor Dumbledore's shaky, wintry old voice crept into her mind, shaking the thoughts away.

"No. Just a feeling of tension." It was only a half-lie. There _was_ always tension.

"Are you sure, Miss Weasley? We need all the information we can find. Voldemort is somehow working magic inside this school, as I'm sure you've concluded."

"Yes, I have concluded. No, I haven't seen, heard, touched, smelled, or felt anything."

"Very well. Thank you. Please do not mention this conversation to anyone, hm? Lemon drop?" The old headmaster offered a sticky, paper wrapped, round candy that Ginevra shook her head at. She wasn't the least bit hungry, though she knew she should be.

"It never happened." Ginevra intoned to placate his searching look.

The headmaster left the Hospital Wong with Madame Pomfrey, their voices drifting towards her, their word's unintelligible. Draco was looking at her from the next bed, his eyes trained on the paper she was folding and refolding, making sure the corners matched up perfectly, the creases were even and starting to wear.

"I never saw anything either," he informed her, his eyes penetrating hers as she finally met his glance, her look that of a rabbit or deer about to bolt. He rolled over then, curling up into a ball to ward off the November chill.

Ginevra's thoughts wandered. She absently fiddled with the flowers that overflowed her bedside table. Candy was heaped at the foot of her bed, tokens from friends, admirers, and people aching to know the story. Harry was due in an hour, Hermione and Ron would be with him, blithering on about something or other that was of no importance to her.

That's what irritated her most, she supposed. The way they talked, including her but not welcoming her. She liked to think she was to much of a mystery to her brother and Hermione, but she knew it was more to do with her age, more to do with the sub-conscious fear of what she knew of Voldemort _(Tom, _her mind insisted_, Tom not Voldemort, two entirely different people)._

Ginevra wished that she felt at home among her friends, that they would try to get the girl who so desperately wanted to be free of the box she had been put in long ago. But no. Her friends, her classmates, they wanted to know only the facade she put up; they wanted to know only the girl who pretended to be, because that was easier.

With a heavy sigh, she withdrew from her mind, shutting it down carefully, neatly tying up her emotions into a neat bundle as she slid underneath the blue and silver quilt and tried to quell the urge to talk to her enemy who was currently lying in the bed next to hers, not two feet away.

"Gin, I still can't believe you've been _right there_ for Malfoy's attack and Luna's...um...attack," Hermione said, frowning.

"Me either. Streak of bad luck. So damn sad," Ginevra said pleasantly, nibbling on a vanilla flavored Berite Bott's bean.

"I'll say," Ron muttered darkly, touching her hand quickly. "Oy, Harry, what're you doing over there? It's just snow, nothing new to look at," he added, eying his dark haired friend.

"I was thinking, Ron. You know what that is right? It's where you start to sort of chatter to yourself mentally? Oh, wait...you don't have a brain..." Harry said, smirking.

"Oh, look, Harry made a funny," Ron replied, his ears burning red.

"Now, children," Ginevra said, laughing softly.

"Your the child, Ginny, not us," Hermione said sweetly, tickling her red haired friend.

Ginevra suddenly wished her hair was fire, so she could burn the look off of Hermione's face.

"Never argue with Hermione, Gin, you'll lose," Harry said, squeezing her hand.

"I'll just bet," Ginevra replied darkly.

"Will you be able to go to the party Saturday?" Harry asked, lightly trailing his fingers up her arm.

"Yeah, I think so. Madame Pomfrey hasn't told me, so..."

"Ok. Well. We'd better be going, Gin, we've got homework and things to do. I'll come see you before curfew, alright?" Harry said, kissing the tip of her nose.

Ginevra smiled angelically as she nodded, her eyes somber and ecstatic. Harry grinned, threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth and yet again claiming her as his.

Hermione hemmed loudly, causing them to separate with a start.

"Come on, Harry, Ron. See you, Ginny," the brunette said stiffly, her cheeks tinged a pale pink as she led her two friends out. Ginevra laughed as she heard Hermione start lecturing Harry on proper conduct before they even got to the doors.

Harry glanced back at her they rolled there eyes at each other, smiles full of promise.

"That was romantic," a familiar voice drawled, breaking her from Harry's gaze.

"Someday it'll be you, Draco dear," she said snidely, not looking at him.

"Ginevra, come on. I saw the look on your face when you two finally unlocked yourselves form each other. Pure disgust. Very well disguised, but I can always tell when someone's being a phony," Draco said, and Ginevra heard him slip out of his bed when the doors closed with a thud.

"Takes one to know one, doesn't it, Ferret?" She responded, blood pounding in her temples.

"I'd be careful, Ginevra, I hold a secret of yours. Two of them, actually. One little slip of the tongue...I think Dumbledore and Daddy would be very, very upset," he whispered in her ear, put his hands exactly where Harry's had been and pulling down on her hair, making her look at him.

Ginevra stared at him as defiantly as she could; let her face slip into the familiar mask of thoughtful happiness. His eyes drew her in, in the end. She caved, her will power ebbing away, her ego taking a beating. _What ego_ flitted across her mind gently and unobtrusively.

Her lips parted slightly as she looked at him, and he bent forward to kiss her. He pulled away when Ginevra drew him closer, and with a sneer he stood.

"You need to tell me your sorry, you insane little freak, before I'll do anything with you ever again," Draco said, his voice hard and seductive.

"And you'll need to apologize for being a git and dance naked in the Great Hall before _I'll_ do anything with _you_, Draco Malfoy."

Two hours later, when Madame Pomfrey was eating dinner in her office, Draco's pleading voice was silenced by her lips and her need for violence fulfilled by his rough hands, as her tears rained silently down her face.

_**A/N: Sorry it's short, but the next bit fit better in the fourth chapter. **_


	4. Still Unbuttoning

_**A/N: So. Anyone realized Avril lavigne is/used to be a cutter? Anyone at all? I have proof, if you doubt me. WELL. Onto the story! Oh, ahem:**_

_**WARNING: RAPE! SELF MUTILATION! In case you haven't noticed, it's been building, people.**_

'_I hope you can hear me_

_I remember it clearly_

_The day you slipped away_

_Was the day I found_

_It won't be the same'-Slipped Away, Avril Lavigne (co-written with Chantal Kreviazuk)_

Two days later, Ginevra Molly Weasley and Draco Romulus Malfoy were released from the Infirmary. An uncomfortable silence raged between the two, Ginevra's mouth a firm, angry line and Draco's face a pale pink.

Just as Ginevra was about to say something, Remus Lupin appeared, causing Draco to scuttle off with a fearful expression on his face. Ginevra was reminded of a small child who had done something naughty and was hoping Mummy and Daddy would forget it if he was a good little boy and didn't get underfoot.

"Remus?" Ginevra asked gravely, looking up at him.

"Ginny, the Headmaster seems to think that you may be keeping something from him. He wants me to talk to you."

"I'm not keeping anything, Remus."

"Well, then...have some of this tea, it's quite excellent."

Ginevra worked hard to keep the smirk off her face, took the small silver flask from her ex-professor, and swallowed a mouthful of the foul tasting liquid.

"Ginny, did you see anything odd the night Draco was attacked and the day Luna was killed?"

"No. I didn't."

Remus peered into her face, searching it for any expression that maybe there was more to the story.

"Did you do anything to help Voldemort get his magic into the castle?"

"No. I didn't."

"Do you have any envy of the Death Eaters?"

"No. I do not." Wasn't exactly a lie. She had envy of the high ranking ones, not the pathetic ones.

"Ginny, do you have any clue how V...Vol...You-Know-Who might have gotten his magic to enter the castle?"

"No."

"Very well," Remus handed the fiery haired female a different flask that had the anti-Veritaserum in it.

"How wonderful that the Order has so much faith in me!"

Remus stared.

"Did you think I wouldn't remember the questions? Merlin! They played you for a fool. That or they thought I was so inordinately _stupid_ that I wouldn't have a clue! Good day, Lupin. Safe trip back."

"Ginny!"

But by then, she was around the corner with her angry sobs to loud to hear over.

_(spacer)_

"Wow, Gin, you look incredible," Harry said, kissing her cheek.

"Have you lost weight?" Hermione asked with a frown, looking over her friend.

"A little. I tried fixing my dress with a charm, it worked, didn't it?" Ginevra asked, looking down at herself.

"Oh, it worked. Don't worry. You just look thinner," the brunette said, smiling.

"Oh. Well. We'd better start going, hadn't we? I don't want to spend hours in here."

Ron-who was escorting a blushing Hermione-led them toward the Great Hall, talking animatedly to Dean Thomas and taking bets on whether or not Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini would come as one another's dates.

Ginevra was silent as they walked, her hand in Harry's, and her mind drifting in various directions. She looked out a window they passed, and smiled slightly. Snow was falling, hitting the glass surface and seeming to bounce off it. The grounds were slowly transforming into a snowy wonderland, as they usually did this time of year.

She bit the skin on the side of her thumb, ignoring the raucous laughter. Music was floating towards her, and she turned and grinned at Harry.

"Dance with me when we get there?" She asked hopefully.

"Yeah, 'course," Harry replied.

They entered the Great Hall, Ginevra a light footed, grinning, pale creature dressed in vibrant red. Harry, dark haired, smiling fondly at his date, dressed in jeans, a blue button up shirt, and loosened tie (all used to be Dudley's, now charmed to fit him), looking for all the world a God.

Ron and Hermione, both slightly red as whispering broke out as well as compliments, were outshining Harry for once, but in a more flashy way. Hermione had outdone herself, letting her hair hang pin straight halfway down her back, her skin-as always-slightly tan, her dress above the knee and dark green. Ron was wearing a pair of khakis Harry had loaned him and an old blue cashmere sweater Percy hated.

Hermione gasped when she saw some of the more colorful outfits that half the girls seemed to be wearing. Ginevra laughed meanly, her eyes sparkling.

"Welcome to being a horny teenager," she muttered in Hermione's ear, causing a bright red stain to appear on the girl's face.

"Weasel, Potty, Mudblood." Draco Malfoy was leaning against the wall with Blaise, and smirking at the four of them. Ginevra frowned as she realized the Weasel wasn't pluraled.

"Come with Zabini, Malfoy? Hand over your money, Longbottom. You to, Dean….SEAMUS!"

The three boys groaned as they gave Ron there galleons and sickles, laughing at Draco's narrowed eyes and Blaise's smirk.

"Well, Potter, I see your _loyal_ girlfriend is in high spirits. Did you finally figure out where it goes?"

Harry glared at his nemesis, his hand tightening on Ginevra's, making her wince. A flash of concern whipped across Draco's face before disappearing under his sneer.

"Ginevra and I figured out where it goes, Potter. If you ever need a lesson..." And then the blonde swept away, a laughing Blaise by his side.

Ron and Hermione stared at Ginevra, and she shrugged.

"It's Malfoy, what do you expect?" She asked, pulling Harry onto the floor when a slow number started playing.

Harry drew her into his arms, kissing her neck briefly.

"Can't believe he'd think he had a chance with you, Gin."

"I can," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Well, he's arrogant, but I never thought..."

"He was amazing," She whispered, unaware that she had.

"What?" Harry asked, pulling back.

"Did I say something?" Ginevra asked, bewildered at the angry look on Harry's face.

"Uh, yeah, you did."

"Oh. I must've been daydreaming. Come on, let's go look at those statues. I heard Dumbledore charmed one into singing old sorting hat songs and after every word bubbles come out of its mouth."

Ginevra took his hand, leading him to the far, darkened wall that had been claimed by around four couples.

"Why did you say 'he was amazing', Ginny?" Harry asked, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"I did? I'm sorry. Must've been daydreaming about something," she sounded so calm, so serene, her eyes half closed, leaning back into Harry, her hands resting on his arms.

"Oh?" He half-growled, tightening his hold on her.

"I love you," she whispered, as if apologizing, but taunting.

"I doubt that, Gin. I love you, but you don't love me. You never have," he whispered in her ear, his lips touching her skin with every word he uttered.

"I have! I do!" Ginevra said desperately, a lump rising in her throat. He had never been this way before, so hard and rough, so ready to cut as if he were a blade and she the arm he was aiming for. As if he wanted to dig into her heart, to rest there, and to then kill it, to squeeze her love out of her and laugh.

Zacharius Smith and his current girlfriend, Hannah Abbot, retreated deeper into the shadows after McGonagall swept by with Dumbledore at her side, whispering furiously to him.

"I'm tired of you lying. Did you or did you not shag Malfoy?" Harry asked, grabbing her wrist and turning her around violently, making her head snap.

"I didn't," she half-sobbed, wanting to drop to her knees and make a plea for herself. What was driving him to this? What was happening? She was ready to dedicate herself to him now, ready to be loved by him, to love him, to not be disgusted or irritated. What was happening to her Harry?

"_Liar_!"

He kissed her then, biting her lip harshly, the fingers of his left hand digging into her wrist, his right clamped tight on her shoulder. Ginevra brought her hands up and pressed against his shoulders. Her limbs crying out furiously as they realized they were lacking nutrition.

"Harry-" She managed to gasp out as he wound his hand in her hair and yanked it, making her head tilt upward.

"Shut up, Ginny. I want to show you I can please you better than _Malfoy_ ever can, and I can't do it when your rambling like the moron you are," he hissed, his eyes shining with hatred.

"Please..." She whispered, fear racing through her.

"And I'll show you I can please you better than Voldemort."

Ginevra gasped and her eyes filled with tears. Pain that had started to dull reared up and cascaded into her mind and heart, coursing through her veins with determination. Harry clamped her hand in his and dragged her out of the Great Hall, saying to teachers and students and friends that she wasn't feeling well and he wanted to get her settled in ok before he returned.

Smiles appeared on peoples faces. What a sweet boy. What a sweet couple. A match made in heaven. She screamed inside, and just before he dragged her out the door, she saw Draco talking to Pansy and she felt her defenses leave her.

She couldn't save herself! She could barely keep herself functioning for chrissakes!

"Harry, please, don't do this. I don't want-" She received an open palm across the mouth and tasted blood. She listened to him as if she were in a dream. His tirade made no sense, the password was unintelligible. Ad then she was thrown on the floor and kissed so harshly, and her dress was ripped off and she opened her mouth to scream and then he _bit_ her, he drew blood, he caused her pain and fear and...And...

Ginevra lay immobile as Harry entered her, and she automatically wrapped her legs around him and made the right sounds and let her eyes drift closed perfectly and it hurt...his hands, his teeth, his _words_.

Two hours later, after she had dragged herself up the stairs to a shower and had changed into a pair of pajamas, she sat on the bathroom floor, blood still slowly trickling out of the bite on her neck, and the long gash on her leg. She had charmed the floor and her clothing to repel the blood, so she didn't worry about any one finding her.

She fingered the pen knife she had taken from Neville's trunk. Blood appeared on her finger. She closed her eyes, bit her lip, and pressed it to her upper arm, drawing it harshly sideways. Pain slammed into her, and she whimpered, the knife dropping to the floor as blood slowly beaded up onto her skin. She shook, and her mind seemed to drift, seemed to escape her.

_(spacer)_

"Draco? You here?" Ginevra whispered, pleating her black pajama pants, tracing-from memory-the small white hearts on them.

"Yes." His voice was hoarse.

"Do me. Now. As hard and rough as you can. I want to feel nothing but pain until my mind explodes in pleasure," Ginevra said dully, unbuttoning her top.

"Ginevra! Not here!" Draco hissed, grabbing her wrist. She flinched away from him, and struggled to keep her face neutral.

Don't you dare fucking cry, she ordered herself, still unbuttoning.

Draco watched her walk away, and he worried. This new friend of his, this little toy, something had happened. The angry, opinionated, verbal sparring partner was gone.

What had happened to his play thing?

He sighed and lit his wand, bending over the newest letter from his mother, unable to shake the feeling that something had simply rolled out of the Weasley, and the fiery haired female didn't know what to do without it.

_(spacer)_

I should have known by your eyes. I shouldn't have dismissed the wetness on your shirt, I should have commanded you to give me your story, screamed myself raw.

But I still hated you. But I was in love and lust with another. But we were only shagging buddies.

So many but's, my love, and not one of them worthy.


	5. Between Day And Night

Ginevra jumped as Harry wrapped his arms around her waist-which was steadily getting smaller as her appetite seemed to disappear-and tugged on her earlobe with his teeth. She giggled and tilted her head away from him, which made him fasten his lips to her neck.

"Harry, don't you have homework?" Hermione said; her voice a shade louder than it needed to be.

"Yes, mother, I do. But today's Friday and this corner is dark and was empty except for Ginny and I..." Harry said, his voice lowered to a seductive whisper.

"Harry," Hermione said warningly.

"Hermione," Harry replied in the same tone.

"Come on, Harry. I've got homework to. I was just over here looking for my quill. Crookshanks thought it was a toy, the naughty thing," Ginevra said lightly, sliding the hand with Neville's knife into her pocket, the blade unused as it had been for the past three nights. It had been a week since the party. A week since her boyfriend raped her. A week since her plea to Draco. She winced at all these thoughts.

"I'll help you," Hermione offered Ginevra, smiling fondly at her younger friend. "I know you have trouble with History of Magic and Transfiguration. Harry can help you with your Potions."

"No, it's ok, real-" Ginevra started but Hermione was already shaking her head.

"Nope, you're going to be the top of your class this year, Gin."

"Ok," Ginevra said quietly, as she followed Hermione and Harry out of the shadows and into the brightly lit, semi-noisy Common Room.

_(spacer)_

She stared at herself. The mirror showed her from the hips up. Every flaw, perfection, her veins, her blood, her tendons….Ginevra wanted to cry. She could feel, actually _feel_ her soul trying to claw its way out of her body.

A ragged, bitten nail flipped open the pocket knife, the tip drawing blood from the skin beneath. She put the edge of the knife to her wrist, and applying slight pressure, dragged it down. As she lifted it, she somehow pressed down hard, and the knife slipped.

A four inch gash was open on her arm now, and a small blob of blood formed…..and slid down her arm to the floor.

She cried then, and she grabbed the shirt Draco had given her last week (he thought she was cold, and he had kissed her palm. With such tenderness.) and she slid her pajama shorts down. No need for propriety when it's dark, and you're already a slut.

_(spacer)_

"Draco, you there?" she whispered into the dark hallway. Her voice echoed back at her, a rumor of helplessness.

"Ginevra." The tip of a wand flashed light. She winced. He walked towards her.

"Draco?" Her voice was filled with confusion. He had blood on his shirt, on his face, in his hair. He was wearing jeans, a button up white shirt.

"Shhhhh, don't ask questions, my pet," he whispered, smoothing her long bangs out of her face, cupping her cheek in his hand.

"Okay," she answered, a sort of happiness settling over her at the command, the term of fondness. The warmth of his fingers crept into her skin, and she looked up, met his gaze. Those cold eyes. The aristocratic features. The way his lips curved into that sneer, making her knees go weak.

He slowly moved his head towards hers, keeping his eyes open, until his lips rested on hers, just barely touching. A wisp of steam, that's what it felt like. The searing burn of hot vapor, scalding her. Her arms crept around his neck, pulling him towards her, their bodies briefly meeting. His hands went to her hips, he yanked her forward.

She moaned into his mouth as he bit her lip, and ground his hips into hers. Draco slid one hand to her thigh, pulling it up, so she would brace herself against him. Her hands found the button to his jeans, and she threw her head back as he entered her.

"Ginevra," he whimpered, his breath hot on her ear.

"Shhhh…."

_(spacer)_

"What're you smiling about?" Harry asked, squeezing her hand roughly.

"Today's Friday," Ginevra answered, trying to wipe the grin off her face. The silent, rough, hurried sex last night had soothed her nerves. Made her anger dissipate for the moment.

"You hate Friday's," Harry said suddenly, frowning.

"Wha-No I don't!" Ginevra answered defensively, glaring at him.

"Whatever, Gin, Make up your fucking mind for once. Don't even know why I'm with you, you're a fucking flake."

She stared after him, rage painting the back of her tongue as she bit the inside of her lip so hard it bled.

_(spacer)_

She loved cigarettes. The smoke clung to the strands of her hair desperately, as if terrified to leave her. She loved it when, all alone, she let her hair cascade around her face and the hints of nicotine would soothe her.

Her favorite poison, the way it makes her teeth feel fuzzy after, the way she inhales, exhales, the way the smoke dances up in front of her and beyond her.

Ginevra likes to extinguish the sparkling end on her right wrist, right now she's working on spelling out the word 'guilt', followed by 'and', followed by 'lovehateme'.

If only she believed in God, she could be an angel, that's what she thinks. One of his fallen warriors, one of his few daughters of misunderstood innocence.

_(spacer)_

Draco is waiting for her, leaning back against a statue, sucking slowly on a chocolate popsicle.

"A lick?" he offers, a sensual smile curling on his lips.

It's just after dusk, the wonderful space between day and night when secrets are made or broken, affairs hidden better or found out deeper…..

She reaches out and takes it, slides her mouth down it. Chocolate coats her lips, and he bends forward swiftly, kisses her with passion. Ginevra responds, her fingers in his hair, before he pulls away.

"You taste better than fire," and he leaves.

She is curious as to why she's smiling.

**_ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS!_**

**SilverUnicorn666: **Thank you! I was trying for something out of the norm a little bit. I got an idea for a Harry/Ginny/Draco triangle with a little slash and maybe Veela-ism thrown in, but once I started writing, BAM! I hope you keep reading and enjoying! Hehe…Devil's number

**Allychik6: **Devastating memory…yeah. Poor girl. :sniffles: Draco is rough and violent without…overpowering her, so to speak. She knows that when she says no, he'll listen, and with Harry its random bursts, scary outcomes, and he apologizes after. She feels as if he thinks she's some kind of fragile doll. Hope that helped clear things up! Thanks for reading!

**CalifornianJade6: **Love your s/n! Thanks for putting me in your favorite stories list, I 'preciate it! And thank you for pointing out my Latin goof. I'm teaching myself by reading one of my friends notes and photocopying her homework so I can work on it to (didn't have room for Latin this year, sad state of affairs), so I really thank you!

**SilverandSilent: **I really relate to our Miss Weasley too. Boxes. : shudders:

**Draco-ginny-lover: **Sorry it's confusing sometimes! Thanks for reading!

**A/N: Longer chapter soon. I'm in shock over Dumbledore.**


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